


A Contract Gone Wrong

by Thorny



Series: Witcher Boys in Peril [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (sex pollen roofies), Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Injury, M/M, Monsters, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Temporary Amnesia, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Vines, Wound Care (via licking)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorny/pseuds/Thorny
Summary: Eskel takes a seemingly simple contract in Velen.  It turns out anything but.





	A Contract Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically not crack, but the plot is dubiously held together with duct tape and a prayer.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was supposed to be a simple job. Eskel had dealt with a chort before. Smaller than their fiend cousins and quite a bit easier to dodge while they rampaged straight into a tree or cave wall. The little Velen village had offered a tidy sum for its head after it had attacked and eaten some prized cows in broad daylight. The abandoned cave just past the forest’s first copse of trees was easy enough to find long before nightfall. Eskel had laid out his lures, oiled his blade, and counted out his Devil’s Puffball bombs just in case.

The ealdorman had failed to mention it was a mated pair.

Eskel dove out of the way as one of the chorts roared and charged. He barely managed to slice its flank with his oiled silvered sword before he had to leap out of the path of the angered mate. He hit the rocky ground hard with a wince, rolling back to his feet just in time for the first to come to its senses. No time for another strike. Eskel cursed and ducked around a stalagmite.  
The second chort howled and spun around, thick cords of snot and drool spilling from its maw. The witcher curled his scarred lip back in disgust. He waited until the last second to roll out of the way of the next charge. Eskel watched with satisfaction as the beast toppled over the rock formation and brought a chunk of ceiling crashing down on its own head. 

The first chort roared in the witcher’s peripheral. Eskel barely managed to brace himself as the monster caught him with a curled horn. His shoulder wrenched painfully as he landed hard near the cave’s entrance. The witcher struggled to his feet, scrambling to grab his silvered sword with his off hand as his dominant arm fell limp at his side.  
“Well, this isn’t going well,” he hissed. The pair of chorts snarled. Eskel grit his teeth and made a tactical retreat, hoping the two wouldn’t give chase into the forest.

He was not so lucky.

“Damnit!” Eskel growled. He vaulted over a large, gnarled root just as one of the chorts roared. He ducked behind a thick oak tree seconds before he felt the rush of the massive beast’s bulk sail past and crash into another tree. The witcher quickly hefted his blade and stabbed the monster while it was dazed, grimly smirking as the beast howled in pain.  
The second chort leapt over its mate with an angry growl. A massive paw struck Eskel square in the chest. The witcher grunted as the claws ripped into his gambeson and he lost his grip on his sword. He went down on his injured shoulder with a bitten off curse.  
The pair of monsters advanced on the prone man, silver sword still jammed in one’s back. Eskel forced himself to breath through the pain. He watched carefully, pressing his good hand against the worst of the seeping claw wound until the chorts poised to leap. The witcher quickly rolled to one side, not looking back as stumbled to his feet and took off deeper into the forest. The two chorts howled in annoyance as their prey escaped again.

Eskel cursed as he heard them give chase crashing noisily through trees and brush. He ducked behind another large trunk, hoping the damn things would lose his scent already. The witcher took a quick look down and grimaced at the deep, freely bleeding wounds. No time to deal with it right now.  
He heard one of the chorts snort behind and to his left. The other growled from the right. Something decidedly not a twig crunched underfoot as the two monsters advanced. 

A low, ominous creaking sound echoed around the forest. 

Eskel chanced a quick glance around the trunk of the tree and silently cursed as one of the chorts spotted him. The monster roared and charged the witcher’s hiding spot, missing the man by a hand’s span as he barely got out of the way. The other, however, caught him as he was getting to his feet. Eskel wheezed as the chort slammed into his gut, winding the witcher and sending him flying back. His back cracked against the trunk of another tree before he collapsed against its nest of roots. The wounded witcher grit his teeth and fought through the pain, willing his body to _move._

A raven’s caw echoed from above. Eskel snapped his head up, eyes wide as his medallion somehow gave a warning hum over its already overtaxed alerts for the advancing chorts. Another strange creaking noise gave preamble to a sudden uprising of massive roots around the two startled monsters. Yelping and snarling, they struggled as the plants engulfed them and slowly squeezed. Eskel winced at the loud cracks, grind of bone, and the dying cries of the two hideous beasts until the forest was silent again.  
The witcher could hear his own blood rushing in his ears in the silence, eyes darting around for the leshen he knew was still nearby.  
Unexpectedly, a soft sweet scent wafted under his nose that overpowered the cloying smell of his own blood and the nearby freshly crushed corpses of the chorts. He tried to ignore it in favor of the clear and present danger a leshen presented.

A looming shadow fell over the prone man after a beat. The witcher twisted around and slowly looked up at the massive forest demon tilting its huge, bleached bone skull at him. Eskel swore under his breath. An Ancient Leshen. Of course. Like his day could get any worse.  
“Just do it,” the witcher groaned, closing his eyes. The only sword that would do any significant damage was lodged in the spine of the crushed chort several yards away. He certainly couldn’t outrun it in this state. The ground shifted tellingly under his prone body, roots wrapping around his splayed limbs and lifting him up in a writhing net of roots and vines.  
However, the crushing pain never came. He slowly cracked open one eye and swallowed thickly. The leshen’s skull was a great deal closer as the creature loomed over its bound captive. Eskel couldn’t help but notice odd little fuschia flowers popping open all along the creature’s upper limbs, releasing tiny puffs of blue pollen. That strange sweet scent grew stronger until the witcher couldn’t smell anything else. His head swam and his body felt all too warm and heavy; though he was hard pressed to tell if that was from the smell or the bloodloss. His eyelids fluttered and he vaguely registered something plucking at his spiked gambeson. The leshen creaked softly, tilting its skull at the bound witcher as it lifted a long, slender arm to brush a talon along his limp sword arm. Eskel’s brows furrowed in confusion. His mind was reeling against a fog. He should be actively struggling, fighting - anything. His body refused to react.

The pollen, the witcher internally cursed. Of course, some kind of spell? Poison? Paralytic, most likely.

However, this Leshen wasn’t acting like any he’d ever dealt with or even read about. He should have been as dead as the chorts by now. Instead, the monster and its plant lackeys were gently stripping his armor off and dropping it to the forest floor until the witcher was down to nothing but his trousers. It left his medallion as well, and it angrily hummed warnings against his fevered skin. The Leshen’s hollow gaze shifted as it tilted its skull down to survey the chort’s handiwork across Eskel’s exposed chest and stomach. Bruises and possibly cracked bones were gently stroked over by freely roaming vines and the leshen’s own careful talons. The witcher bit his lip. The leshen’s curious touch finally stopped at the bleeding claw wounds and another low creaking sound escaped it.  
Slowly, a long, slimy black tongue slithered out from under the monster’s skull. Eskel’s eyes widened. He willed his body to struggle as the leshen leaned in closer. Not even a muscle twitched at his command. The witcher mentally braced his fogged mind for whatever horrors were in store.  
Instead, the leshen startled a choked sound out of its captive as it dragged the warm and wet appendage tenderly across the first ragged tear. Eskel gawked as a strange tingling sensation followed the monster’s careful ministrations, and he internally cursed as his body responded in kind.  
He _should_ have been thoroughly disgusted. 

It shouldn’t have felt _good._

Eskel bit off a choked moan as a wandering vine slithered up between his thighs to brush against the burgeoning erection trapped inside his trousers. He swore it had to be the pollen; he _couldn’t_ be _enjoying_ a leshen lapping up his blood. And yet.  
“Why - What are y - mn!?” He choked out, forcefully swallowing another moan as another wave of the unwanted pleasure rolled through his body. The leshen didn’t reply. Its tongue dipped lower while several vines curled up his limbs, pinning him securely despite his body absolutely refusing to even make an attempt at escape. The witcher shook his head as much as he was able, trying vainly to dispel the dazing effects, but only succeeded in making his mind reel even more. It wasn’t too dissimilar to a succubus’ charms.  
With its captive mentally distracted fighting the pull of the pollen, several vines wrapped around Eskel’s dislocated shoulder and upper arm. With a sharp jerk and a sickening crack, the witcher’s humorous slid back into the socket. He bit off a scream. As the shock ebbed, Eskel slowly realized the leshen was stroking the backs of its talons down his cheek soothingly. The witcher tried not to think too deeply about the monster’s motives. It was all too confusing anyway.  
Finally, the leshen silently commanded its vines to finish stripping the witcher. Eskel hissed as his last thin defense was removed, chilled air hitting every exposed inch until the roots and vines re-wrapped themselves around the man. Writhing and slithering and distracting while their master finished cleaning the smears of blood from Eskel’s front. His wounds looked as though he’d managed to drink a Swallow potion; half-healed and no longer in danger of infection. Not that the witcher had the wherewithal to notice just now.

Pleased with its efforts, the leshen retracted its tongue and rumbled, training its empty sockets back up to the flushed and slightly out of breath face of its captive. Eskel groaned as vines slid against his backside. Still more slithered up his back and wrapped around his shoulders, gentle with the recently re-socketed side. The pain that had been radiating from the wounds had dulled enough for the pollen’s full effects to take hold, fogging the witcher’s mind even further in tandem with the forced pleasure.  
A thin vine wandered over Eskel’s exposed throat, toying with the chain of his medallion as it slithered against his rapid pulse. The man shivered, choking out another groan. The leshen creaked, commanding its living bindings to rearrange the captive witcher with his legs spread wantonly. His scarred face flushed as he was forced to acknowledge his proudly standing manhood.  
“Hey - !” Eskel jerked, all thoughts violently derailing as a thin mucous-coated vine purposefully pressed against his backside. It rubbed and wriggled until the vine easily slipped inside. The witcher hissed and cursed, eyes slipping closed without his express permission. The leshen tilted its skull. Its hollow sockets trained on the witcher’s face in rapt attention. A thick, wide vine crawled up his thigh and slowly curled around his straining erection, squeezing just enough to elicit an unconscious buck of hips for more. 

Everything shifted and slithered together to overwhelm the dark-haired captive with pleasure. The vine thrusting inside the witcher relentlessly pressed and rubbed against a spot that forced out reluctant moans. He jerked and arched as he was touched and stroked _everywhere._ The thicker vine started up an agonizingly slow rhythm stroking his length. Yet another vine squirmed up and pressed past his slack lips to tease at his tongue. Eskel’s mind was too far gone to even contemplate biting the intrusion.

Through it all, the leshen loomed and studied the witcher as he came undone. 

Eskel snapped awake. The bright sun stabbed at his eyes from the nearby window. His first instinct to get up from the stiff cot he was lying on was belabored by an absolutely splitting headache and a deep soreness across his entire body. He raised a hand to rub his face, groaning.  
“Oh, Master Witcher! You’re awake,” a soft feminine voice murmured. Eskel cracked open an eye to see a young woman wringing her hands with a bit of cloth as she stood in the doorway of the room. She offered a pleasant smile.  
“Can I get you anything for the pain?”  
Eskel nodded slowly, afraid to move his head too much. The woman stepped past his cot and he heard the clink of glass before a small vial was pressed into his palm.  
“Drink this, it will help with the worst of it.”  
“...Thanks,” the witcher muttered, tipping the vial back without question. It tasted like someone attempted to brew a Swallow potion, but hadn’t quite got it right. Far too sweet and oddly tinged blue. Still did the trick though, and Eskel gratefully collapsed back against the thin pillow as the worst of the pain mellowed out. The woman offered a sympathetic smile before she tucked the scratchy blankets up around the man’s shoulders.  
“Rest, Master Witcher. Those awful fiends did a number on you. You’re quite lucky our lord found you before… well. Best not to wonder.”  
Eskel vaguely remembered a pair of chorts and a harrowing run through unfamiliar woods before everything went a bit fuzzy. Must’ve hit his head when one of them tossed him. Ugh, next time he was scouting more thoroughly. An unprepared witcher was a dead witcher. He coughed into his fist, clearing his throat before nodding to the woman.  
“I’ll have to thank your lord for the timely rescue… ah, I didn’t catch your name?”  
“Kyriah.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was curious, one of the chorts smashed a totem of the leshen's. Hence why it was a might pissed at the chorts. And then poor Eskel's there, bleeding and lookin' like a snack.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please check out the rest of the 'series' for more one-shot Leshen smut with other boys from the Witcher!
> 
> I also adore comments! Even if its to tell me how horrible I am for writing these~
> 
> \--
> 
> Kyriah is my herbalist OFC from [ A Flower for Your Flower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278400).


End file.
